December 30, 2010

I really didn’t feel like writing yesterday or today, so I am happy to share a link sent to me by my pal Mike of Lost in the Details. It is a compilation of the 100 Greatest Movie Insults. I got a kick out of them. The one that made me laugh out loud contains the word “lollipop.”

N.B. This compilation is decidedly NSFW, and if you are offended by numerous F Bombs (even though in my view they are well executed) and other words commonly thought to be offensive, do not click on the link. Otherwise, click and enjoy.

December 28, 2010

These are photographs taken by the inmates of a women’s prison in Romania. The living accommodations are not like those I would expect to see in most women’s prisons in the U.S., but never having visited a women’s prison in the U.S., I can’t say for sure. Some of the women are very attractive, some not. There are, predictably, several women who presumably benefit by looking more like men than they do women.

December 26, 2010

After watching Katie Couric’s masterful interview of Condoleezza Rice, I dispatched PRS Operatives to gain access to Katie’s desk and have a look around. Here is some of what they found:

Pre-interview notes, entitled “Getting Condi, the wingnut, to admit that there’s no way she really is a black woman.”

A copy of a note to Kieth Olbermann: “Kieth, I would totally love to do ‘special commentaries’ like you do. Can you give me some tips. I’d make it worth your while (I’m perky in more ways than one – LOL).

A rough draft of what appears to be the beginning of her autobiography, entitled, “Nooze is My Business, and Business is good.”

The beginning of a note to CBS News executives “Ratings, Shmatings. I’m hot shit, and you damned well know it.”

A book entitled, “Foreign Policy for Dummies.” (The book shows no signs of ever having been opened.)

A note signed by President Obama: “Dear Katie with the sweet ass – Thanks for everything. I owe you big time — Best, Barry.”

A large box of Crayola crayons (all well used).

The beginning of a note to Bob Schieffer: “You old goat; it’s about time you got the hell out of my way Bob: Congratulations on your decision to transition to new opportunities. I always admired your work.”

Ha! If I thought I could make some serious money or get free stuff by endorsing stuff, this site would be a constant infomercial. Truth is that I know that Peeps stop by here for scatological, snotty attempts at political humor and other nonsense a reasoned and careful examination of the American sociopolitical milieu.

As such, I think it is important that I discuss gin.

It seems to me that gin has fallen out of favor, but there are few things better than a proper martini. I’m talking about a drink that contains nothing more than a hint of vermouth and gin (and a twist of lemon peel or an olive or two). The colorful displays that are served in bars these days and referred to as “martinis” are often excellent, but simply pouring something into a martini glass does not make it a martini.

My gin of choice has been Bombay Sapphire, which is truly excellent. However; I was recently gifted with a bottle of Hendrick’s Gin, and it is quite something. It is manufactured in very small batches (450 liters) in a distillery in Scotland. Like all gins, it is flavored with various botanicals, but unlike other gins, Hendrick’s Gin is also infused with rose petals and cucumber. Sounds a little nuts, I know, but it makes an exquisite martini. Although it packs an 88 proof wallop, it’s as smooth as silk.

I figure that if you’re not a martini person, Hendrick’s might not be worth the extra money, but if you know and love an excellent martini, I’d say go for it.

P.S. When I’m out, I order martinis with olives, but at home I use Tomolives. Give them a try.

P.P.S. Note to the Hendrick’s Gin Peeps: If you’d like to drop a case off at the House by the Parkway (South), that would be cool. I’d gladly pay you Tuesday.

December 19, 2010

I’ve been regularly groundpounding, year-round, for about a decade now. The only weather-related things that will keep me inside are cold rain and icy sidewalks/roads. As such, I go out in weather down into the single digits. On the coldest days, I wear sweatpants and multiple layers (depending on the temperature) under a windbreaker.

Yo, Jimbo. What about your hands? At single-digit temperatures, WTF?

Good question. At the outset, it should be noted that cold hands are only a problem for the first twenty minutes or so. After that, blood flow takes care of everything. Until now, I have worn nothing on my hands more elaborate than white painter’s gloves. They were warm enough for the first twenty minutes.

However; lately, painter’s gloves weren’t getting it done by the House by the Parkway (South), where we have frigid temperatures and some gorilla-stompin’ wind. I tried regular gloves, but I found myself pulling my cold digits out of the fingers of the gloves in order to make a fist inside the gloves. This, of course, demonstrates that the best thing out there to keep your hands warm are mittens.

Hence, the endorsement.

I recently acquired a pair of Manzella convertible hunter’s gloves/mittens as shown above. They are gloves that cover your hands but leave your fingers free to do stuff like load guns and shoot. The key is the “convertible” part. The gloves can be instantly converted to mittens by pulling the cover over the tips of your fingers. I love this feature, because I can do lots of things, such as fiddle with my iPod, without removing the gloves, and, after twenty minutes, I can fold back the part that turned the gloves into mittens, and magnets keep them that way.

So, if you are a cold weather groundpounder, a hunter, or anyone else who wishes to keep his/her hands warm in nice mittens, but who needs the option of using their fingers, I suggest you consider the Manzella Hunter Convertible gloves.

You’re welcome.

P.S. The gloves picture above are the camouflage version. Mine are the blinding “blaze orange” version, which you can see by clicking on the color in the previous link. Between the blaze orange mittens and my retina-scalding chartreuse reflective windbreaker, I figure my groundpounds are visible from the farookin’ space station.